Smiling as he had been told to smile, his arms folded across his broad chest, Bob Thorp leaned casually against the window sill and watched Salsbury, who was working at Bob’s desk.
The infinity transmitter was connected to the office telephone. The line was open to Sam Edison’s place — or at least the number had been dialed, and the line should have been open.
Salsbury hunched over the chief’s desk, the receiver gripped so tightly in his right hand that his knuckles appeared to be about to slice through the pale skin that sheathed them. He listened closely for some sound, some insignificant tiny little sound of human origin, from the general store or from the living quarters on the two floors above the store.
Nothing.
“Come on,” he said impatiently.
Silence.
Cursing the infinity transmitter, telling himself that the damned thing hadn’t worked, that it was a piece of crappy Belgian-made hardware and so what could you expect, he hung up. He checked to see if the wires were attached to the proper terminals, then dialed the Edisons’ number again.
The line opened: hissing, a soft roar not unlike the echo of your own circulation when you held a seashell to your ear.
In the background at the Edisons’ place, a clock ticked rather noisily, hollowly.
He looked at his watch. 5:24.
Nothing. Silence.
5:26.
He hung up, dialed again.
He heard the ticking clock.
5:28.
5:29.
5:30.
No one spoke over there. No one cried or laughed or sighed or coughed or yawned or moved.
5:32.
5:33.
Salsbury pressed the receiver to his ear as hard as he could, concentrated, strained with his whole body and attention to hear Edison or Annendale or one of the others.
5:34.
5:35.
They were over there. Dammit, they were!
5:36.
He slammed the receiver into its cradle.
The bastards know I’m listening to them, he thought. They’re trying to be quiet, trying to worry me. That’s it. That has to be it.
He picked up the telephone and dialed the Edisons’ number.
A ticking clock. Nothing else.
5:39.
5:40.
“Bastards!”
He hung up the phone with a bang!
Suddenly he was drenched with perspiration.
Clammy and uncomfortable, he got to his feet. But he was frozen by rage; he couldn’t move.
He said to Thorp, “Even if they did get out of the store some way, somehow, they can’t have left town. That’s absolutely impossible. None of them’s a magician. They can’t have done it. I’ve got it all sewed up. Haven’t I?”
Thorp smiled at him. He was still operating under the previous orders Salsbury had given him.
“Answer me, damn you!”
Thorp’s smile vanished.
Salsbury was livid and greasy with sweat. “Haven’t I got this fucking town sewed up tight?”
“Oh, yes,” Thorp said obediently.
“No one can get out of this crummy burg unless I let them out of it. Isn’t that right?”
“Yes. You’ve got it sewn up.”
Salsbury was shaking. Dizzy. “Even if they slipped out of the store, I can find them. I can find them any damned time I want to. Can’t I?”
“Yes.”
“I can tear this goddamned town apart, rip it wide open and find those sonsofbitches.”
“Any time you want.”
“They can’t escape.”
“No.”
Abruptly sitting down, almost as if he had collapsed, Salsbury said, “But that doesn’t matter. They haven’t left the store. They can’t have left it. It’s guarded. Closely guarded. It’s a damned prison. So they’re still in the place. Being quiet as mice. They know I’m listening. They’re trying to trick me. That’s what it is. A trick. That’s precisely what it is.”
He dialed the Edisons’ number.
He heard the familiar ticking of the clock in one of the rooms where there was a receiver.
5:44.
5:45.
He hung up.
Dialed again.
Ticking…
5:46.
5:47.
He hung up.
Grinning at the chief of police, he said, “Do you realize what they want me to do?”
Thorp shook his head: no.
“They want me to panic. They want me to order you to make a house-to-house search for them.” He giggled. “I could do that. I could make everyone in town cooperate in a house-to-house search. But that would take hours. And then I’d have to erase the memory of it from everyone’s mind. Four hundred minds. That would take a couple of hours more. They want me to waste my time. Precious time. They want me to panic and waste hours and maybe give them a chance to slip by me in the confusion. Isn’t that what they want?”
“Yes.”
Salsbury giggled. “Well, I’m not playing their game. I’m going to wait for Dawson and Klinger. I’m not going to panic. Not me. I am in control of the situation — and I’ll stay that way. ”
Thunder boomed over the valley and reverberated in the two office windows.
He dialed the general store.
5:50.
5:51.
He giggled and hung up.
Then he had a startling thought: if the Edisons and the Annendales knew he was listening to them, that meant they knew the entire story, the truth, knew who he was, really was, and what he was doing here in Black River… And that was impossible.
He dialed again.
5:52.
Nothing. Silence.
He put down the receiver and turned to Thorp. “Well, I guess it doesn’t matter if they do know. They can’t get away. I’ve got them where I want them. I have the power…” He stared at the infinity transmitter for a while, then looked back at Thorp. “What do you think Miriam will do when she finds out about the power I’ve got?”
“Who’s Miriam?”
“You know Miriam.”
“I don’t know her.”
“She’s my ex-wife.”
“Oh.”
“A rotten bitch.”
Thorp said nothing.
“Frigid as a popsicle.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I know what she’ll do,” Salsbury said. “She’ll come crawling to me. Old Miriam. Crawling to me, Bob. On her hands and knees. She will. Won’t she?”
“Yes,” Thorp said.
The power…
“You know what I’ll do?”
Thorp said, “No. ”
“You know what the hell I’ll do when that rotten bitch comes on her hands and knees, crawling on her hands and knees to me?”
“No. ”
“Kick her in the face.”
“That’s assault,” Thorp said.
“Same for Dawson. Kick him in the face.”
“That’s assault. You’ll wind up in jail.”
“I’ll get Dawson,” Salsbury said solemnly. Then he giggled. “I’ll get that sanctimonious old bastard.”
Thorp frowned.
“Think I could find a pair of jackboots, Bob?”
“A pair of what?”
“Maybe there are a few people, just a few people, not many mind you, that I’d want jackboots for.”
Tat-tat-tat-tat-tat-tat…
“Hello?”
“Mrs. Wolinski?”
“Yes.”
“I am the key.”
“I am the lock.”
“Is your husband there?”
“He’s upstairs right now.”
“Is he alone upstairs?”
“Alone? Yes.”
“Are you alone downstairs?”
“Yes. ”
“Do you know Sam Edison?”
“Oh, sure.”
“Is he at your house now?”
“Sam? No?”
“Is Jenny Edison at your house?”